Reminders of a Legacy
by dannysdrogo
Summary: 76th Games. Post CF. Sickle, the sister of a victor is reaped into one of the bloodiest Games yet meant to teach the Districts not to rebel but that the Capitol an absolute power. Katniss is missing and Peeta is presumed dead so the rebellion is fading. It's time for forgotten districts to stir things up by tampering with the Games and releasing their Mockingjay. KatnissXPeeta SYOT


Title: Reminders of a Legacy

76th Games. After CF. Before MJ. Sickle, the sister of a victor is reaped into one of the bloodiest Games yet, one that is meant to teach the Districts not to rebel but that the Capitol an absolute power. Katniss is missing and Peeta is presumed dead so the rebellion begins to fade. KatnissXPeeta SickleXBirla

Idea: There is a 76th Hunger Games set right after Catching Fire, but before Mockingjay. Katniss and her friends have escaped the previous Games and have not been seen since and the other tributes caught by the Capitol were said to be executed. However, the rebellion rages. The actual executions have made sure of that. Now there are cracks in the rebellion, people who don't think they should fight or even believe that the star—crossed lover, Peeta, is really dead. Or that Katniss is either. The Capitol is executing left and right and has managed to get the districts into a shaky state of which they still reign loosely. With the 76th Games, they plan to scare the citizens into total submission with their bloodiest battle yet. If only Katniss could make a strike before the Games truly began…

This is a SYOT so I would like some tributes (None from District 12 or 13 or 3). My tributes are from District Three so I would like tributes from any place other than that one please. In the submission I want you to PM or review me these things:

Name: First, Last, Age

Age/District (Top 3 choices):

Appearance:

Strengths/Weaknesses:

Background:

Personality:

Talents:

Reaped/Volunteered:

District Token (or not, if you please):

How far do want them to get?: (Last ten? Die in bloodbath?)

Want Allies? (if so, how many?):

Relationship status:

Type of Death (put one or I will make one up):

Likely to Rebel/Not Rebel:

Opinion of Games:

Weapon Preference for Games:

And please, be creative! (I will post the chosen tributes in the next update. And if you need some help, PM me and I will show you what I have written for mine.)

Intro:

DISTRICT THREE:

_It was dark and she was alone yet again. Sickle can see the mist gather by her feet and a faint, pulsing white light from a place she cannot see. Although she is scared, she starts for wherever her feet take her. As she moves the lights yellow a bit and then start to flash erratically. Sickle screams and closes her eyes to try and block out the flashing lights but then a siren wails and her ears ache murderously. She starts running again but it seems the more that she runs, tries to search for a way out of the room, the more trapped she becomes. The lights keep flashing, the sound keeps thrumming and the feeling of weightlessness takes a hold of her. The sensation of falling yet knowing that she is on stable ground frightens her. _

_Her screams don't stop and tears stream down her cheeks. Finally she slumps to the ground and begins to cry. When she peeks with blurry eyes, the lights have grown considerably brighter and she loses control of her body, no longer able to move. Instead, she finds her arms and legs jerking haphazardly, _but her eyes stare unblinkingly forward.

Sickle awakes with a shudder even though the room is quite warm. Sighing, she swings her legs over the side of her bed and walks to a dresser she had once built with her father a while ago. Back when her parents still passed as jolly and warm. While Sickle loves them quite a lot she has to admit that nothing has been quite the same since her family moved into the Victor's Village over three years ago. Her brother, Olive, won the Games the 72nd (he was seventeen; Sickle was eleven) year and hasn't been the same since. Upon arriving, she approached him with open arms as everyone advised her to do. But she could see sadness in his eyes every time he spoke and tried to act like he wasn't a changed person.

Everyone tried to do something to get it into his head that he should be happy because he was a Victor and has achieved the impossible. He invited us all to stay in the house with him and enjoy the luxuries of being rich, which Sickle admits is pretty nice. Instead of living in cramped simple three room houses that the rest of the district has to live in, they have a large wooded adobe. They have money, like, _real _money. Enough that they will never be sad again. Or so she convinced herself to believe. That she was happy. Although they were prepped and pampered like royalty, nothing felt right to her anymore. Olive wasn't all right, her mother wasn't all right, her father wasn't all right and she certainly was not all right.

Sometimes Sickle dreams of living in the wilderness like the children in the Games, but has never informed everyone of that shallow dream. Out in the forest, she would be free to do whatever she wanted, even if she had to try hard to kill her food and live comfortably. The main thing that appealed to her about this arrangement was the solitude. Out in the forest she would be free of the Capitol's influence and there she could live with the people she loved most. Where she was free to do whatever she pleased. What a silly dream, she scolds herself. It would never work because no matter what she was trapped. As the sister of someone who had won the Games, and not that long ago, she was under the Capitol's long-reaching nose.

Speaking of the Capitol, they do have quite a feat to accomplish this year. The Gamemakers have to create something that can both overshadow the last two years Games, but also put an end to the unrest that has been bubbling in her community for a while now. The unrest and rebellion started during the 74th annual Hunger Games where there were two victors, District 12's Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. The "star-crossed" lovers were a common nickname the two received. That year, near the end they were offered the chance for two of them to survive if they were from the same district. Naturally, the two rekindled their love and teamed together only to be turned against each other at the end and instead of killing the other in cold blood; they decided to eat a night lock berry to end their misery. Surprisingly, their stunt worked. The Capitol didn't like that.

This year, there are no games that they can play with them. There is no Quarter Quell, no chance to throw something crazy at them all, with gleams of admiration in each other's eyes. But there is an unscheduled silence in the air, which worries them all. Even though the 78th Games are scheduled to happen in a few weeks, there have been no new commercials on the television or Peacekeepers taunting children on their way to school. Instead they see the old ones, reminders of what tributes before us have to gone through and the guards are silent with their eyes poring over their lean arms as we walk back. Like they know something that we have yet to. It scares Sickle. The streets are much more sullen, as they usually are around this time and the poorest of families, who have applied for tessarae, are among the most uneasy.

Sickle, herself is pretty uneasy. Her stomach is always unsettled and aching. She has always felt this way ever since her brother got back. The Games have changed her life though she desperately wishes it didn't have to be this way. She exhales and walks to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Before she does, she takes a good look at herself in the mirror. She's nothing ordinary with her mud-colored hair and surprisingly lively brown eyes despite the fact that she is known for being nothing close to the like. Her nose is long and large and her pouty lips make her self-conscious and on her worse days she wishes that she looked like the people in the Capitol she sees on the television sometimes, with their slender noses and chiseled cheeks and perfect breasts.

Splashing lukewarm water on her face, she gets herself together and tries to mask the insecurities that none of her friends ever understood. In their young, undeveloped eyes, she should be happy to live with Victors and enjoy so many of the splendors that they lacked. But at what cost, she always finds herself asking herself. None of it mattered anyway, because they will all end up at the mechanics factory making electronics for the Capitol. That was something that Sickle didn't mind that much, working in the factory. The gadgets that they were being taught to make interested her and she was very good at what she did. She just didn't have the motivation to put that type of passion into other things, like socializing or improving her public opinion from the drab person Olive's Capitol friends saw her to be.

But she wasn't boring, she thought as she made her way down her house's cobbled steps to walk to school. On the way she would stop to pick up her good friend Birla Loughry. Birla was someone like her that she admired greatly. They had been neighbors before her brother moved them away and have known each other since they were little girls who used to sneak glances at each other until they got to school and were encouraged to open up, even if it was just a little. Birla and Sickle have been inseparable ever since. Sickle sees her friend down the path and waves, her heart a little lighter now that she could actually talk to someone whose thoughts weren't nearly as dark as her own. Birla could make anything seem like a picnic. Even school. "Birla, are you ready to go?"

"Yup," she smiles, popping her lips on the last letter. She grabs her hand. "Let's go."

Walking to school was always a fun thing for Sickle because it reminded her that even though she was fifteen (and still eligible for the Games), she could still get lost in herself and be a child just long enough that she would never have to worry about anything for a little while. She would go work in the factory or the lab and drown herself in her work to dampen how much it bothers her that she couldn't do anything to help anyone. The Peacekeepers have made it well known to the people that Olive couldn't keep donating his money to citizens to revitalize the District's economy. He was all alone at the top with the other Victors with nothing to do but sit in their houses all day and work on their meaningless talents.

In the distance, near the town square, Sickle and Birla could see masses of people crowding around. What was going on? The large television that's mounted in the center was blaring with an important message being delivered by President Snow, which meant that it was something that is urgent that he wanted to be enforced without a hitch. "Hello, District Three. Today, I am here to give a message that is to be carried out immediately. Tributes are to be chosen at the end of the week instead of at the end of the month. So, if you please, gather in the square on the given afternoon and enjoy the ceremony."

The screen shut off and the district was met with the sound of rustling air. The Hunger Games had never been moved at all, it was always something that the people thought they were guaranteed. A few more days until the inevitable. Sickle didn't care. The reaping was inevitable; it shouldn't matter to the people that it was almost a week earlier. But it did. Soon, there were murmurs passing through the crowd that was nearly trembling with fear. The end of the week was only two days away and people were nervous.

In class the next day, everyone was shaking and fearful of what was to happen. A common rumor was that these games were to be extra brutal since it was being moved up; the Capitol couldn't wait for the tributes to die in a given bath of red. Birla and Sickle discussed it the morning of the reaping as we sat on the porch of her house, eating desserts she had brought from her house just for the occasion. Birla looked fearful. "Do you really think the Capitol is trying to get the Games started like this so that they can get our tributes into a unusually brutal arena?"

She ponders this, Birla asking her a question out of the blue, when they were discussing their dresses and all the work that was put into her friend's. Even though no one wanted to go to the reaping, it was the law. Even though they would love to attend wearing whatever they pleased, Birla's mother made a point of using spare pieces of fabric to make one of her old dresses a raw beauty. Her dress, however, was something her mother picked up from a shop the day before. Nothing special. Her mother lost the ability to care about things like that ever since her brother was picked. She figured; if you're going to be picked, don't give them the satisfaction of looking like a princess. "No. If the tributes are going to get there regardless…"

Her dark eyes widened. "But what if something's wrong? If they had to send them in early because of trouble that was coming?"

"What kind of trouble? Nobody tries to rebel anymore ever since the last execution ceremony." It was true, ever since the rebellion a year or two ago, we had been on lock down for a few months and then things returned to normal. There was never much we really had to fight for. Plus, we were told that all the rebels have been executed as well as the people who tried to continue what they started. It was a long process. The citizen's were asked stand in the town square and watch while a hooded Peacekeeper shot rebel after rebel in the back of the head. It was horrible, especially when the tiniest fleck of blood would manage to find its way off of the stage and splash onto a child's cheek, like it had to Sickle. In that moment, she wanted nothing more but to cry but she had found that she couldn't. Instead, she wiped it off and stared at the ground for the next few hours. Since then, she didn't fear blood. Only a humiliating death.

"What about Katniss?" Katniss was presumed dead by the Districts, as well as her friends. No one had seen them in a few months and figured they had been snuffed out.

There wasn't really anything Sickle could say, because Birla could be right. Or completely off her nut. "I don't… know."

"Welcome to the reaping for the 78th annual Hunger Games, a challenge of brute strength, feeling and wit. Today we will be choosing two lucky participants a chance to represent their given Districts and come home with the highest honor possible. Being a Victor. So, without further ado, a message from your mayor." The Capitol's announcer drones on for a minute or two before he hands the microphone to the mayor, who recites a speech that was most likely given to him by higher-ups who wanted to ensure peace.

"Hello, people of District Three. I, your mayor, am here to communicate a message of utter importance, how the Hunger Games have come to be. A long time ago, there was a group of rebels who didn't like what a paradise we have created in Panem and decided that they wanted to wreak havoc and bring our great nation to ruin. But our courageous President wouldn't have that. He believed in prosperity and that despite a few sour people in the bunch who wanted to ruin the lovely affluence we had luckily reach through his welcomed counsel. We couldn't let them do that. So, in the best interest of the people..." Birla and Sickle crept into the square, said goodbye briefly to go check in with their respective families as the announcer waited for the rest of the town to file into the too-small square so that they could all hear.

Then they reunited in the area reserved for fifteen years old children with her brother standing right outside, clasping her hand tightly. Olive stood with Sickle holding him close to her, hoping that she would skate by yet another year. Birla sat on the edge of the fence, holding her best friend's remaining hand. This year the chances for either of them being picked were slim as they had no reason to have their name entered into the drawing more than once. Ever since Sickle was eligible to be reaped for the Games, Olive was able to provide for them. As for Birla, Sickle had made sure whether she wanted to accept her help or not she would so that she would receive all the help she needed and never have to apply for tessarae.

On a platform, the Capitol speaker was handed the mic back and began to discuss previous years of Games and the rules and a bunch of other things but refraining to say what we all really wanted to hear. At last he said those dreaded words. "And at last what you've been waiting for…the reaping."

For our female tribute, we have…" He trailed off a bit, to add to the suspense, clearly not caring about our feelings before pulling a name from a bowl. "… a Miss Sickle Mallow."

Sickle's heart stopped at that moment so much that all she could feel my brother's grip on her tighten so much that it hurt. Her throat began to close as tears of paralytic fear pooled in her eyes. Suddenly all she could think of was the regret that she had for not loving her brother, her family, even _herself _more than she has of late. In her sheltered world, she thought that she was safe, that her brother had guaranteed her safety by winning the Games when indeed he did not. Olive had ensured his own safety and now she would have to guarantee his own. She had taken it all for granted. They were going to rip her away from everyone she ever loved and put her in the ring to fight like a savage. If they wanted her to be a savage, she would be a savage. She would make sure everyone thought she was crazy. A few feet away, she could see a group of Peacekeeper's coming to take her away, when she heard a familiar voice scream from across the square. "Don't take her away. I volunteer!"

All the heads in the square turned around to face Birla, who was just as choked up as I was. She whispered, but everyone could hear her voice. "I volunteer."

There was no way in hell that I was going to let her fight my battles so I yell. "No, I accept the challenge! Please, Birla, just stop."

Amidst the heart-wrenching scene, was madness? The Capitol's giddy announcer says. "I have an idea. If you really want this honor, come up here and get it. First one up here gets the honor of being District Three's female tribute."

Birla and Sickle only locked eyes for a second before they started for the stage, bobbing and weaving through the crowd. For a second she looks back at her brother, who looked like he was ready to shoot himself. Taking a deep breath, she pressed on, knocking people down to fight for the spot that she would never wish on anyone but her callous self. Birla is making good time too, barricading through the crowd like a rabid animal. People are even stepping out of her way in this crowded space. Sickle acts like an animal as well, even biting fingers, stepping on feet and flailing her arms like a banshee. People steer clear and she starts to pull into the lead. Birla makes a swift turn to get to the stairs and she knows that in order to get to the top of the stage she must be rash. When she reaches the stage, Birla is at the stairs, sure to get what she wanted. Sickle couldn't have that. She climbs up the side of the stage, tearing the dress her mother bought her in the process, and runs to the announcer. Birla arrives a second later with flushed, tear-stained cheeks.

Instead of fighting, she accepts her defeat with civility and kisses Sickle on both cheeks before enveloping her in a hug long enough that a Peacekeeper has to drag her away and Sickle is asked to stand as she is. She tries to smile at the crowd like the lucky girl she was, waving. Stay strong, she thinks. The announcer just smiles. This is the moment she confirms her hate for him. "And the male tribute is… Glenn Arid."

Glenn Arid? The name sounded familiar. Although Sickle had no former connection to him, he recognized him from school. She was a grade his senior. He was fourteen. She was sixteen. They were both screwed. In the crowd, the boy stood from his spot in the male fourteen year old pen, where he had been leaning against the edge of the fence, with his two little brothers, both younger than twelve, and his devastated parents standing behind him. The boy was stick skinny and lanky, most likely in his position because of tessarae. His hair was thick, black, short and curly. His cheeks were a bit gaunt, accentuated by his long slender nose, which she thought would have been cute if he had had a bit of time to grow into his looks. The most startling thing about him was his eyes. They were the color that she imagined you would get if you blended dying green grass with dark, wet sand. But she was getting ahead of herself. There was no reason she should be trying to size up Glenn's looks when the moment they step into the arena, she'll have to end his life. She repressed the urge to sigh. The Games were already starting and couldn't look weak in front of her opponents, whoever they may be.

Sickle felt bad for him though, even worse than she felt for herself. Here she had Birla to fight for her (and a few years of relaxed living in the warm, sheltered Victor's Village), but she could tell he had no one. He was skinny and pale and miserable looking. He may have a few friends from school, but none of them were solid enough that they would volunteer for him. Let alone rush to his side at the terrible news. To her she must look horrible, like an unlucky brat. The sister of a victor. Beloved by many for the wealth she shares. She lets out the sigh she had been holding for a while, the last of her feelings leaving her as she was taken to wait for the train to come and pick her up. What she was absolutely sure of, was her last feeling. Imprisonment.

As she was escorted offstage, the Capitol's announcer said one last thing in his sing-song voice. "Please, tributes of District 3, may the odds be in your favor."

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